Work Text:
---
we were the almost,
the all-too-gone,
the way i lost you,
the way you moved on.
---
Kirari
24 October 2016
The taste of Sayaka’s name still rattles Kirari’s teeth. Their burn still haunting her like a graveyard of broken promises, of unkept secrets. Kirari would drown out a whole cup of espresso down her throat just to ease the burning Sayaka had left her. But she would end up clawing at her neck because she could no longer scratch at what was making her so empty.
Kirari rolls to her side, the empty space beside her doesn’t scream anymore. Just a shallow aching, a hollow reminder, an empty auditorium that swoons with echoes of a heartbeat. She brings out her phone, and types yet another message she would never send.
‘hey good morning, i know you’re busy, i know you don’t want to hear from me but the sun looks like the fresh bloom of your cheeks when you’re laughing, and i can still hear the rising of the city smoke in my ribs where you planted the lily of your name.’
It was still growing, the way that ribs crack open for lovers to meet.
Slowly, she sits up and gets out of the bed, and letting her bare feet quiver in the chilly morning air. She finds herself looking at the cabinet, remembering the way they helped each other dress. The way Sayaka laughed at Kirari’s house clothes – I didn’t expect you to own an oversized hoodie! – and smile lovingly. The way they would— Kirari shakes her head out of those memories. It wasn't good to linger on them for far too long.
She walks towards the bathroom, even after a month she could still smell a hint of her. Still feel the entire presence of what’s already over. She turns the faucet, listening to the water run as she stares at her reflection. And, instead, she sees more ghosts.
Slender fingers running through platinum hair, as they expertly braided it. Laughter with blue lipstick marking each other – reluctantly cleaning up – before they went out. Black and white ribbons meeting like an eclipse.
‘i told the sky about you while i was having breakfast.
it said “she is rapture on your neck. she is the sun kissing the moon with everyone watching, she is arrow backpedaling, she is greek god eros in human embodiment." ‘
Kirari breathes hard, and stares at the bits of Sayaka she could never get back.
---
but my body is rooted in this little city,
and no matter what i do,
i can’t seem to leave.
---
27 September 2016
The first cut is always the hardest. Kirari would have never, in a million years, thought she would fall down this rabbit hole. She would dip the blade down the soft patch of skin and watch a garden bloom on her arm. Twisted understanding with Midari’s obsession with pain. The drive to feel something, anything, other than the numbing dullness inside of her.
She tells herself that her wrist is a temple, already old but still beautiful. She doesn’t convince herself that her sun is still sitting on the square of her shoulders. She’s still alive but she’s only gotten colder.
Was she not good enough to bleed out Sayaka’s love?
She waits for her sister to understand. She tells her over dinner, where the chicken has gone cold, and her stomach is full of ghosts. She is quiet. Her hands are shaking, and she counts off the last second before she speaks.
“Do you want to go to therapy?”
Kirari shakes her head no, her chest crumbling inside her body. Ririka sighs, echoing in the room that Kirari insists on staying at. “Here’s the thing: the more you care, the more it hurts. I’m not telling you to stop caring, that’s inhumane. But you shouldn’t overthink. You should move on.”
The red lines are still fresh, however dried. Standing out against her pale-white skin.
“Sometimes,” Kirari looks down on her garden “I run my thumb over my knuckles, and pretended it was Sayaka doing the action. Sometimes, I wonder why she’d left me, but then remember the reason.”
“Kirari. . .”
“My love was made of cosmos, and she left because she couldn’t handle the way I self-destructed in my own madness.”
“Kirari,” there’s desperation in Ririka’s voice, asking – no, begging for her sister to allow herself to be saved. “Please don't do it again.”
Ririka pleads, tears pricking at the edge of her eyes. “Please. . .”
Kirari’s eyes are as hollow as a pin-pricked egg “I won’t do it again.”
She never does.
---
you are the apollo,
the burn of my too tired throat,
the way i slept
with a bedroom ghost.
---
24 October 2016
Kirari still has an undying hatred for coffee – coffee shops included. Although certain moments with her sister makes her push through the abhorrence. She isn’t sure if the strong and bitter taste curdling in her nostrils is from the coffee. While Kirari hates coffee with her entire – equally bitter – being, she absolutely cannot reject Ririka’s invitation.
“We should meet out more often than once a month.”
It is Kirari who says that, much to her sister’s pleasant surprise. Kirari who doesn’t go out unless needed, Kirari who prefers to lie low, Kirari who doesn’t want to take a chance on passing by a stranger. It is Kirari who starts the invitation. “I think it would be great.”
Ririka can’t help but laugh at Kirari’s statement. She accepts the invitation, delighted at her sister’s attempt of becoming more outgoing. “It would be more than great, sis.”
The rest of their meeting is spent with idle chatter, talking about anything and everything. An air of innocent happiness floating around them, enveloping them in comfort and serenity despite the gloomy weather outside.
‘but i said: she feels like summer iced tea and fingers crossing over empty spaces and spring grass over sunflower skin.’
---
you are the cold on my feet,
and the bruised kisses on my skin.
it’s not that you’re toxic, no.
it’s just that you are not my sun,
and i will not become your shadow.
---
14 February 2017
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you actually want to be here.”
Kirari can only stare at the other girl through the rim of her wine glass. The red liquid the same shade as her dress – fitted tightly, as if it were clothed temptation. The woman is the fourth date she’s had ever since Ririka told Runa about her invitation to go out more. Runa making it a point to be her annoying little matchmaker.
Ririka probably also had a say in this, considering that she wanted to Kirari to forget how to count all the beats in her heart that said Sayaka’s name. But Ririka doesn’t understand how Sayaka will always fit herself into Kirari’s ribs, as if she’s a demon she can’t bear to erase.
“No,” Kirari puts the glass on the table gingerly, all manner of poise in speaking “I’m not really interested in dating.”
“Not interested in dating, ” the woman’s mouth curves up in an amused smile. Kirari didn’t bother to ask for her name, knowing it didn’t have any space in her lungs. “Or not interested in me? ”
“Consider it what you will, but I’m afraid that you’re not able to catch my full attention.”
The woman – maybe Harumi? – slices her steak into tiny pieces, stabbing one of them with a fork and bringing it closer to her open lips. “How cruel of you to say it so boldly,” she murmurs, swallowing her piece down her throat. She grabs her wine glass and brushes the rim against her mouth. “Is this how you usually talk to your dates?”
“If I were trying to impress you, I wouldn’t be so rude.” Kirari catches a delicately rolled sushi in her chopsticks, daintily chewing it. “However, there’s an emptiness in me that I’m quite afraid you won’t be able to fill.”
“If there’s something missing, why can’t I fit?”
The question almost makes her choke, the food she’s swallowed nearly wheezing back up her throat. But the moment she latches on to her senses, memories flood her, a vague sense of familiarity darting in her ribs. She’s been asked nearly the same question, by a different person, years ago.
“I just,” Kirari breathes, the words pebbling down “I just don’t think there’s any space.”
‘your skin feels like steam rising out of geysers, and your name is liquid wax on my tongue. maybe that’s why i can never quite scrub you off of me. i am the unwanted winter cold, and you are my only heat.’
They spend the rest of the night in a somber atmosphere.
---
sometimes, i wonder whether the bitterness in your teeth tastes like me.
i hope you can never get rid of it.
---
19 September 2017
It’s been a year, and Kirari no longer looks for the ghost or the shadow in the mirror. She doesn’t search for her under streetlights or sidewalks. Doesn’t try to find her name in the cracks of her ribcage, or the Sunday breakfast she used to always give her. Because she knows where they are now. Tucked away, hidden in the tiny leather journal Ririka gave to her on their birthday.
“You should write your feelings, your words, your story here.” she says, pushing the notebook in her sister’s hands “I remember you love reading. You should make your own poetry here.”
Kirari no longer writes unsent messages, but a novel in her secret satellite. Her feelings are all over the place, curling up like smoke around the pit of her throat until she becomes a gas chamber. The way Kirari whispers secrets against her pillowcase because it absorbs everything – dreams, feelings, tears. The moon doesn’t watch her break, knowing too well a kindred spirit.
the sun breathes your name into my sheets because it knows perfectly well that you belong to me.
you tell me, “did you know that the moon watches over your secrets and gives them back to me?"
It’s been a year, but the wounds reopen. The pain comes back harsher. The wave pushes back harder. It’s been a year. It’s been a year.
---
“Isn’t it supposed to get better with time?” Kirari asks, twirling a pen between her fingers. Smudges of ink painting them. “I thought it was supposed to, you know?”
The page she had been writing on is covered in black, words written then crossed out. Scribbles of a tale that will never get published. A six word story barely legible: our love didn’t have enough sentences.
“It is,” Ririka is used to coming to the rescue, coming to Kirari with only one call. It wasn’t like she spent her time doing something that required her full attention. Meetings can always be delegated to someone else, tasks easily assigned to some poor soul. “But it all depends on what you mean by better. You can’t keep picking at your scab and then get upset when it starts to bleed and hurt again.”
At that, Kirari laughs. Something that she seldom does these days. “Why do you doubt me so much?”
“Because I know you, Kirari. You should write something else – anything but her. ”
“No,” Kirari shakes her head, a short laugh coming out. “That’s the thing, I’ll write about the sunset sky and then it will be about the lavender in her eyes. I’ll write about bus rides, and suddenly it’s about the way I counted the number of times she’d smile at me. I’ll write—"
There’s a choked sob, a pained howl. “—I’ll write about anything else, but it all comes back to her.”
‘i like to think that you love the sound of my voice, and it helps calm you down when you’re trying not to shake so badly’
“I mean, I know I’ve told you a couple of times that I want to be with her. These silly love poems don’t seem to be enough proof. Somehow, in some way, these words – my love – are never enough.”
“Kirari?” there’s shaking, a staccato of a voice crying out. Which is which. Who is whom. “It’s gotten better, you’ve gotten better. Why are you. . .?”
her scent was the color of lavender, and i saw it spewing around the house like fog. she left her mark everywhere. her perfume was buried under my pillow the night after she left. i could smell the crevices of her elbows on the nook of the bedsheets. when i leaned in close enough, i could almost smell her beside me.
“It’s been a year, sis. It’s been a year on this day.”
---
you told me that the moon was jealous of me,
because the stars were attracted to the shape of my ribcage,
where they aligned themselves perfectly like teeth.
---
Sayaka
19 September 2016
It wasn’t like her to just leave. It wasn’t like her to just give up. It wasn’t like her to just walk away. She didn’t have anywhere to go. Which is what she tells herself to explain why she’s here, trying to find happiness at the bottom of a shot glass. The loud music blares out around her, but all she can hear is the stinging remark Kirari said to her. The lights blind her, but all she can see are the ways she could never be enough. The alcohol burns her throat, but all she can taste is the heartbreak she caused.
And maybe she’s a little bit drunk. Maybe there’s a tiny part of her that’s still trying to get over her last shot of whiskey. And maybe she’s starting to get a little queasy – alcohol is drowning her in the pit of her stomach, an ocean tide trying to get to shore. Before she knows it, she begins to swallow down the lump rising in her throat, threatening to get out. She places a hand over her stomach, closes her eyes for a moment. And lets the silence sink in her bones.
She can’t remember the last time she felt so alone.
“Does my eye deceive me, or is this the perfect Sayaka Igarashi we have here?” a cackling breaks her out of her pity party. She knows that insane cackle anywhere, a scowl forces its way to her face. “Oh, Sayaka! It is you!”
“Leave me alone, Midari.” An arm is thrown haphazardly across her shoulder, the other girl never did know the meaning of personal space. “I don’t have time for you.”
“You never do.” Midari takes a shot of whatever Sayaka was drinking, cringing as it went down her throat like liquid fire. “This drink is shit.”
“Thanks, I never offered it to you. Now leave me alone.”
“Is that how you’d treat an old friend?” Midari just laughs at Sayaka, not offended in the slightest “Never thought Kirari would rub off on you like that.”
Sayaka flinches noticeably at the sound of Kirari’s name. The name leaves a sour taste in her mouth, almost like gunpowder. Bitter, metallic, and destructive. Sayaka pours herself another shot, and downs it in a frenzy. Desperate to clean her palate from all traces of—
“Huh,” Midari scratches her head, a look of confusion and concern painting her features at Sayaka's action “Do you, uh, want any help?”
“No,” Sayaka gasps, sputtering as the burn of her throat spreads to her chest. “I don’t want any help.”
“Well, do you need any help?”
Sayaka laughs, a short and pained laughing that comes from her ribs rather than her lungs. When was the last time somebody asked her if she needed help? When was the last time someone saw her ask for it? When was—
“Oi, Sayaka.”
“No.” Sayaka says firmly, staring into Midari’s eye. She sees an emptiness in there that she feels. She sees the same girl she knew back in middle school. She sees— “Well, actually. . .”
---
this time, i won’t feel your hands clasping around my wrists like handcuffs.
i won’t feel like you’ve been stripping off the last of my freedom.
---
27 September 2016
They’re both in the living room, Midari just mindlessly scrolling on her phone and herself just staring blankly at the wall, fingers mindlessly tapping a tune that she could only hear.
(She flinches when she realizes what tune it is and stops.)
“So why aren’t you two talking anymore?” Midari asks, looking up from her phone. “You’ve been ignoring her phone calls.”
She could say it’s a long story. She could say they had a fight. She could tell her everything. Make her hate her like she does (because, really, she does. Forgetting is hard when she remembers everything, back to the first word she said to her, when they were still strangers. When it didn’t hurt when they didn’t talk to each other.)
“No reason, really.”
Suddenly, a sharp pain crosses her forehead. She hastily puts a hand over her temple, bending down as she closes her eyes. She clutches her hair, tugging it upward. Her face begins to shape into pain, a misery that’s been forming a root in her chest.
“Hey,” Midari says again, more forcefully this time “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Sayaka breathes “I’m fine. I’m just. . .”
A little bit confused, maybe. A little bit hurt. A little bit heartbroken. And maybe, she’s still trying to reassemble herself, to form the same bone pattern, to build the same home that Kirari has always been wrecking.
Because it’s Sayaka. Sayaka who could never deny Kirari, even after all the pain. Sayaka who still loves Kirari, even when she was the one who left. Sayaka who sees Kirari’s eyes in every blue that she encounters - the sky, the sea, even the instamatic camera she gave her on her birthday.
“I’m just tired.”
Midari stares at her in concern, but shrugs. She wasn’t the type to force people into sharing their feelings, their problems.
---
i won’t remember you as someone who ripped my heart.
instead, you’ll be just another forgotten star.
---
24 October 2016
Apartment hunting is difficult, especially when Sayaka could remember when the two of them looked for one together. She had been staying at Midari’s place for a month now, and she doesn’t think she could stand staying there any longer.
Not that Midari was a slob, no. It was the exact opposite, much to Sayaka’s surprise. She kept the place pristine, she kept it organized. She kept it manageable. Which is why she couldn’t handle staying there. The neatness and organization reminds her of an old flame. A burned out flame.
Tired and wet, Sayaka enters the first coffee shop that she sees. A small, unassuming coffeeshop that she passes by every time she went out. She sees a flash of platinum, and hears a laugh she hasn’t heard in a while. Sayaka wishes the sun had shown itself today. But it's raining outside, pouring rain that drips its way down the windows in the melancholy way that rain does.
(Kirari will always be her moon. And maybe she was the wolf, instead of the sun. Learning to love the moon from afar.)
Regretting things is pointless. What-iffing is pointless, and it always will be. The way that it ended won’t change. It won’t magically become okay, and Sayaka knows that.
She can’t seem to let go of her hate –of that feeling of betrayal, resentment. She can’t let go because she’s choked on words that she should’ve said.
She leaves without glancing back.
---
It’s always the romantic who lies, the romantic who ignores the truth, the romantic who tries to weave everything into their happy narrative. She never was good at telling the truth. It was always so much easier to hide behind facades and lies, and she justifies herself by saying, well, I can, so why shouldn’t I?
Sayaka the logical girl, the clinging girl, the lying girl. It is Sayaka who lies. To herself. To everyone. Lies that she doesn’t love Kirari anymore. Lies that it doesn’t hurt. Lies that she doesn’t regret leaving.
But the truth always finds a way back to her. She would find it in the oddest of places, like the bristles of her toothbrush when she tries to scrub off the pain. Or under the sheets where it’s warm and the pillows smell like moonlight, or the heated scent of pancakes Midari prepares in the morning. Or, maybe the set of keyboards where they always seem to spell out Kirari’s name.
Sayaka wishes she’d never have tasted Kirari’s misery. She can still find her in the deep gums of her teeth, right where her tongue can’t erase the rest of her. But she still can’t run away, can she? She’s still trapped in the mess inside her chest, in the Valium that’s been growing in her bones.
And maybe she should stop this, stop hurting herself, stop loving her.
Can she, though? Can she stop loving Kirari?
Is that even possible?
---
i want to say it’s not my fault for not realising it sooner
but then i realized it that all this time,
i wanted her
more than anything
---
12 March 2016
Sometimes, Kirari came home with a ghastly ocean under her eyes. Sayaka couldn’t get rid of the sight, even after she tries to scrub it off her eyelids. The way she would sweep the older girl in her arms, and dip her in the small glow of the stovelight. Peppering her with kisses until both of them are laughing.
Kirari had a way of making the moon feel like perfect company.
They were dancing now, her hands on Kirari’s waist, Kirari’s hands on her neck, swaying to the beat of slow pop songs until their feet started to feel like a lumberjack’s. Kirari is leaning on her chest, and she is supporting her with all her might because, really, Sayaka is a frail girl with a frail heart.
And they were singing together as well, even though most of the time, they were just humming to the tune because they had no idea what the complete lyrics were. Sayaka is enjoying that moment because it was rare. Kirari wasn’t a sucker for romantics, not like she was. So she appreciates her gesture and the way she looks at Sayaka like she was her world.
Kirari looks at her and smiles. “Sayaka, I have something to tell you.”
And Sayaka’s heart beats ferociously against her chest. She was going to die any minute now if she didn’t let go of her, but she couldn’t let go of her. Not right now. Not when everything felt so perfect. “Hm?” she somehow managed to speak.
“Promise me you won’t overreact?” Kirari says seriously, though there was a playful tone in her voice.
Sayaka’s palms were slippery and the heat in their room was contagious. She hopes Kirari wouldn’t notice her grip on her waist wavering. She didn’t want to let go. Not yet. Not now. Not ever. “I promise,” she whispers into her platinum hair.
“I love you.”
Was she still breathing? She wasn’t. She didn’t think so. She isn’t sure if she heard it correctly, but Kirari said it. The three words she’s wanted to hear since the tower. I love you. I love you. I love you. She never wanted this moment to stop. She never wanted to stop dancing with her, and Sayaka would bear with her clammy hands for years to come if it meant hearing those words again.
“I love you, too.” she chokes out. She feels like crying, and when Kirari gazes at her with a littlest grin on her face like she was playing a practical joke, her heart broke into a thousand pieces on the carpet. Her grip finally lightens, and she lets go.
---
it’s not the heights that scare me, i think.
it’s knowing that you’ll be on the other end to catch me.
---
Kirari
28 March 2019
The streets are painted pink with the petals of the cherry blossoms. The sweet fragrance floating around the air giving out an atmosphere of new beginnings. Kirari takes her time walking towards her favorite pastry shop, stopping by every once in a while and to smell the flowers so to speak. While there were countless other bakeries and pastry shop, this one was the only one that appeals to her tastes – selling Chocolate Cream Puffs, Cinnamon Roll Twists, Cheesecake Napoleones, and of course, her favorite – Strawberry Muffins.
The interior of the pastry shop is as small as the cafe that Ririka and her always went to, but it smells sweeter and felt more homey to Kirari.
The cashier places the paper bag on the counter with a smile. “Here’s your order, miss!” she says sweetly, sliding the paper bag closer to her reach.
Kirari’s whole face brightens at the sight of the two strawberry muffins inside, immediately crumpling the paper bag in her fist. “Thank you,” she quickly turns away from the cashier. As she opens the paper bag, the sweet scent of the strawberry muffins waft closer to her nostrils. She pushes her hand inside and grabs hold of a piece.
She feels ridiculous, being so obsessed with something like this.
But she takes another inhale of the strawberry muffin before she slowly fits the tiny bite in between her teeth. Kirari squeezes the slit of the paper bag back in her fist and carries the strawberry muffin like a cloud in her lips. It isn’t until she looks up that she sees a woman staring right at her – her eyes are the shade of the moon, bare and raw in Kirari’s throat.
“Your strawberry muffin,” Sayaka watches the muffin pounce on the floor and into her feet. She looks at Kirari, quickly realizing the older woman will make no move to get it. “Kirari,” her voice breaching at the sound of the other woman’s name. “Kirari.”
It feels like this is the first time she’s heard it from Sayaka’s lips, like this is the last time she ever will.
“Okay.” Sayaka hesitates for a moment before slowly bending down to take the strawberry muffin from the floor. But Kirari rushes over to grab Sayaka by the wrist. Sayaka’s eyes snap towards her, grounding her inside her skin. Kirari’s heart shatters from her palms and into Sayaka’s open ribs, as if it’s the only place it can sleep in safety.
“Kirari?” Sayaka questions, her eyes staring at the careful fit of Kirari’s fingers against her skin.
“Don’t tell me to let go,” Kirari hears herself say through the soft tremble of her mouth.
“But if I do,” Sayaka’s voice trembling like a comet, glancing at the tight grip Kirari’s fingers had on her wrist, “will you?”
Swallowing the fear gritting into her throat, softly, she says, “No. I won’t.”
“Then,” Sayaka murmurs, slipping her wrist out of Kirari's hold and linking their fingers together in a fleeting breath, “Don’t.”
---
“You never moved out,” Sayaka observes as she stares at Kirari unlocking the door.
Kirari ushers Sayaka into the apartment in a daze. Her fingers are still latching on to Sayaka’s like she’s afraid that the other girl will suddenly disappear. Her hand is beginning to sweat, but she doesn’t dare loosen her grip. Sayaka doesn’t bother to question her about it despite her obvious curiosity. They both know what happened the last they had met, how easily the other had walked away like the relationship never meant anything to them. Instead, she lets Kirari lead her into the nifty interior of her – their apartment.
“It’s,” Kirari hesitates, not quite sure on what to tell Sayaka why she couldn’t leave. I couldn’t bear leaving this place, like how you left me. Your ghosts will follow me anywhere I go, anyway. This was the last thing I had of you. “It’s practical.”
That earns an amused twitch on Sayaka’s lips before she finally gives in and lets a smile break over her face. Kirari hasn’t seen that in years. She doesn’t realize how much she’s missed it until the sight fissures over her teeth.
we are lying on our bed. the television is blasting from across the room. you are holding my hand close to your chest, so that when i twist my wrist, i can grab your heart at the first contact. you tell me that i am warm, that my skin is made of heated skies and damp kisses. you are kissing my knuckles when you ask me, “are you afraid of people leaving?”
She turns to Sayaka for a moment, a blush rising on her cheeks. “Dinner,” she murmurs. “Would you like to stay with me?”
Kirari doesn’t know what she means when she asks Sayaka that,if she’s asking to stay for the night itself or if she’s asking Sayaka to never leave her again. But either way, the other girl’s mouth opens like a fracture over Kirari’s lips, and the other replies in fine greeting, exchanging the letters in between their teeth – like a secret. A promise. Finally.
---
when i wrap my arms around her,
i can feel her heart pounding inside her ribcage, like she’s telling me,
"don’t leave, don’t leave, please stay.”
---
17 April 2019
This is the first time she’s had to cook for anyone else.
Kirari is used to have her sister over to cook her breakfast, until she eventually learned that she was never going to fend for herself unless she learned how to turn on the stove. Ririka had taught her – it took her more than a few hours to make Kirari actually understand what she was saying. It started with the easier ones: eggs, strips of bacon, white rice, and even the occasional mushroom soup. Until she learned to cook more difficult dishes.
In a way, she kept hoping that it would have somehow brought Sayaka back.
That’s why, when she finishes pouring all the mushrooms into the Brown Rice Risotto, she finds herself looking back at Sayaka, who’s firmly seated at the table. Even after weeks of being with her –she still can’t believe that Sayaka is here in the flesh.
“Did it hurt?” Sayaka’s voice is swollen and thick “Did–did you regret anything when I left?”
“Sayaka. . .” Kirari takes two plates and puts them on the table. “ When I said I’d rather forget we existed. It was because I didn’t want to feel the burn of your absence.”
Carefully, she lays her palms on the table, ignoring the wobble of her knees. “Sometimes,” she says, “I put out two plates, and pretended that you were here, that you came back to me. Sometimes, I put two pillows beside me on the bed, and pretended that you were sleeping next to me on nights I couldn’t stop the nightmares. Sometimes, I just slept on the couch, to ignore your absence. Sometimes,” she continues, her heart charring, “I pretended that you hadn’t left me, that I could still feel your heartbeat even though mine was completely empty.”
Sayaka’s eyes snap towards her, her heart crumbling the pain found in Sayaka’s voice, her ribs, her teeth. She remembers the way Sayaka had found her bleeding before anyone could have noticed, how Kirari had told her that it was nothing. Sayaka’s voice comes out weak and struggling, like her words are about to split.
“Sometimes,” Sayaka rises off her seat and grabs Kirari’s wrist “I wondered if you woke up to an arm reaching out only to see the empty space beside you. Sometimes, I tried to take back the letter I wrote. Rewrite it in my head.”
“Sometimes,” Sayaka stutters, the words falling out like the way teeth did in dreams “Sometimes, I wondered if I meant anything to you.”
“You do.” Kirari chokes out, not hiding behind any facade anymore “You mean more than the world to me.”
---
“Why did you leave me?” she whispers, afraid that she would scare away Sayaka and bring back the ghosts. “I thought you’d always be there for me.”
They were lying on the bed, tangled together like bruises. Eclipsing each other, like the sun and moon. Dark and Light. Summer and Winter. Apollo and Artemis. She could hear the soft burrow of Sayaka’s heart beating, listening to it like the rush of an ocean wave before it simmers down into the sea. “I did, as well.”
Sayaka brushes a thumb against Kirari’s cheek, and looks into the moonlight in her eyes. “I can’t say that I didn’t regret. I–I spent so much time thinking about us, about this.”
“I understand why you left. I understand why you had to go.”
because I fed on my demons even when you tried so hard to not let them grow.
“Tell me,” Sayaka says, like a willow has burned into her teeth, “what else you’re hiding.”
Her eyes open like a burst, a thought, a constellation. She gathers Sayaka in her arms, their bodies tousled beneath the sheets. Their legs are vined together – hip touching hip, exchanging secrets in between their knees, their hearts jumping from ribcage to ribcage.
“Tell me,” Sayaka urges, her finger touching Kirari’s chest in a tremble, “if I’m still here.”
Kirari’s lips curve into a smile as she reaches closer to Sayaka’s throat. “And here.” Her mouth fractures over Sayaka’s shoulder, at the side of her neck, the stiff line of her jaw, the mountain of her collarbones, her stomach, her wrists, the outer portion of her ribs. She says, “Here,” in every kiss, in every second that her lips pass over Sayaka’s skin.
“Everywhere,” she murmurs, her voice a stitch over Sayaka’s heartbeat. “Everywhere, entirely, like there’s no other way to complete me.”
---
she says,
“i love you,”
so easily that it rolls on my tongue.
she is my world, a place i have grown to love.
---
26 June 2019
Finally, Kirari is getting used to the abomination– correction, blessing – that is coffee and coffee shops. She watches in amusement as Ririka and Sayaka talk, catching up to one another.
Morning rush hour in cafes are the worst– the hustle and bustle of people, all trying to get their liquid drug to stay awake for the nine-to-five hell that was their jobs. All trying to cut each other so that they wouldn’t get late to work, but the time spent in line just proved to be counterproductive.
However, cafes in the afternoons– well, they’re one of the things that Kirari can get used to.
It’s because there are many reasons, such as they weren’t as crowded in the afternoon. The way Kirari could listen to the soft music playing over the speakers, and not the chattering of people. But her favorite reason is meeting with Ririka for their monthly catch ups. They did meet out more often, but the cafe tradition was too sweet to let go. Or so Ririka justifies, relishing the way Kirari cringes and glares at caffeine. Sometimes, it’s the way they would go to Kirari’s favorite pastry shop after that.
But today, Kirari’s reason was Sayaka. It’s holding hands as they walk to the cafe and into the cabin, sitting together on the same bench as they overlook the skies streaming over the city. Sometimes, they’re the color of peaches – slightly pink behind the buildings before it turns into a wild shade of orange. Sometimes, they look like they’re making love to the sea – lightly coated with cyan, and then turning far deep. Sometimes, they’re lilies – catching lavender in her palms and giving them to Sayaka when she falls asleep.
And –
Sayaka always falls asleep in the oddest times. In fact, she’s sleeping now. Her head is resting on Kirarii’s shoulder, her breathing light and easy. But their hands are still interlinked, as if Sayaka is unable to let go of her thoughts even when she’s already sleeping. And Kirari is always brushing her thumb over Sayaka’s knuckles, soothing her in her slumber. It’s always like this, and Kirari always falls in love with it.
“You’re right, sis.” Kirari smiles, blue eyes meeting blue eyes “It does get better.”
Ririka smiles back, overjoyed at her sister getting the happy ending she deserves. “I’m glad you got better.”
She watches the sky become three different colors at once as they continued talking to each other. Laughing at Sayaka’s light snore, and how she could fall asleep while conversing with Ririka. I told you that you’re such a boring person to talk to.
For a moment, it looks like spring, and then it doesn’t, and then it looks like morning in the summer when she wakes. But every time Kirari looks at the same sky, she thinks of one thing.
Sayaka is her warmth. Sayaka is her sun. Sayaka is her phoenix. And she’s thankful for giving her a chance for rebirth.
sometimes, when i lean in, your hair smells like violets and summer and every good thing in this world.